Paradise Peak (New Americana #5) - Janet Dailey Page 0,1

looked away. He raised his eyes above the blur of moisture coating his lower lashes and studied the burst of color brightening the sky as the sun rose higher above the distant peaks.

The sight conjured a small measure of peace within him, stirred a soothing sensation through his veins, and made him wonder how it might feel to be a good man. Not a great one (he doubted he’d ever be one of those), but at least an honest, trustworthy one. A man who always tried to do the right thing and had no blight on his name. The kind of person he wished, with every breath he drew, he could become.

“It must’ve been hell.”

Travis shook his head and returned his attention to the man, whose scrutiny had intensified. “Not at all.”

Travis had entered hell at eighteen and had emerged from it three weeks ago when he’d been released from prison at thirty-eight. By contrast, the mountain trek he’d undertaken over the last few weeks had been full of fresh air, bright skies, and majestic heights that had lifted his head and at times, his weary spirit.

“Weather’s been clear most of the way,” Travis added, gesturing toward the sunrise. “No snow, and only one thunderstorm that dropped lightning instead of rain.”

“We’ve had a drought for a while now. Bad for us, but good for your trip it seems.”

Gravel crunched underfoot as the man stepped closer. Travis faced him again, tensing as the man lowered the large cooler to the ground, wiped his hand on his jeans, then extended it.

“Red Bartlett.” Smiling, he nudged his hand closer.

Travis stared at Red’s palm, the deep creases stained with dirt, and considered the open invitation his upturned fingers offered. Releasing the straps of his bag, he slowly placed his hand in Red’s. “Travis.”

Red squeezed, his callused fingers gripping the back of Travis’s hand as he shook it firmly. He searched Travis’s expression, perhaps waiting for more, but when Travis didn’t speak, he said, “Welcome to Paradise Peak.”

Travis smiled, his chest swelling. It was the first time in twenty years that he’d been welcomed anywhere . . . or touched without animosity.

“I expect you’re exhausted,” Red said. He released Travis’s hand and retrieved the cooler from the ground. “How’s a decent meal and good night’s rest sound to you?”

“Good, but . . .” Travis shoved his hand in his back pocket and fumbled through the bills lining it. Fifty, sixty dollars at best, remained. “How mu—?”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Red said, rolling his shoulders, “but I got a few years on me. There’s fifteen rock bass in this cooler, and there’s another cooler stocked with more bass and trout by the river at the bottom of that trail.” He raised an eyebrow. “I been out here three hours—since five in the a.m. My arms hurt, my back’s screaming, and I don’t relish the idea of stomping back down there and hauling that heavy sucker up here. I’m interested in a trade, and your muscle would be a big help.”

Travis frowned. “That’s a kind offer, but not a fair trade.”

Red threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t bow your back up, son. I didn’t mean to offend you, and this ain’t no charity, if that’s what you’re worried about. That ain’t all there is to the trading, and there ain’t no five-star hotels my way. I’m offering you a plain ol’ fried fish dinner and one night’s stay in a rickety cabin with a lumpy cot.” He grinned. “When the temperature dips back down tonight, you’ll feel like you’re sleeping on a slab of ice, and that’s after you spend the majority of today cleaning, filleting, and cooking those fish before you eat ’em.” Red’s tone was firm, but his lips twitched. “Damned shame I didn’t stumble upon you earlier, otherwise I’d have made you catch them, too. Save me the trouble.”

Travis smiled. Maybe it was Red’s friendly demeanor, or it could’ve been the way being called “son” sat well within his soul, but either way, Travis liked the idea of helping Red. He hadn’t been able to help anyone in a long time.

“In that case, I’d say it’s a fair trade, and I thank you for it.” Travis headed for the trail, asking over his shoulder, “Cooler’s at the bottom of the trail, you said?”

“Yep.” Red pointed toward a small clearing beyond the gravel path, where a blue truck was parked. “That’s me over there. I’ll load this up, and when you get back